


Let Go of Everything

by neveralarch



Category: Punic Wars RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 21:20:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9029042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: Hannibal and his elephants in the snow.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anndy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anndy/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide Anndy! Thanks for requesting this - it gave me a good reason to spend some time reading about the Punic Wars during my usual Madness rush, haha.

It was snowing. It was unseasonable but not unexpected, just another one of the thousands of little difficulties the gods kept throwing at them. Hannibal sighed. It was a small mercy that they'd already stopped to make camp.

He'd lost so many men and animals to the rock falls, the cold, and to the mountains themselves. The ones left still had faith in him, or fear of what would happen to deserters alone in the wilderness. Hannibal didn't care. They just had to keep going, keep trudging and—

"What the hell are you doing?" demanded Hannibal, and then repeated himself in Greek for the benefit of the soldiers currently tying five tents together.

"The elephants are cold," said one man. The elephants weren't alone, then. The soldier's own skin was chapped, dulled from its natural black luster and tinged with gray. Hannibal looked across the camp and saw dozens of other soldiers engaged in the same task, and some already huddling under the makeshift tents, pressed against their elephant's heaving side.

"Oh," said Hannibal. "Good initiative."

One of the Iberian men was leading the elephant Surus to kneel on the ground, and a pair of soldiers were already lashing the tent to stakes, ready to cast over both Surus and companions.

The first soldier hesitated, and then made a small gesture. "Would you like to join us, sir? It's warm under there, and you get used to the smell."

Hannibal's own tent was fully erected by his aides. It was clean and well-stocked with wine. And it was lonely, and cold.

It was better to stay a little apart from the men. So many of them would die, on the march, or when they met the Romans. It was better not to know their names.

"Mago!" he called to one of his aides. "Bring a few skins of wine from my tent. Thank you," he told the soldier. "I think I will."

He sat in the dark, his back warmed by Surus and Surus warmed by his back in turn. He listened to the men talk, their laughter buoyed by drink, and thought of them lying on the battlefield, their souls collected by Mot.

The skin was passed to him again, and Hannibal took a long drink.

"To your health," he said, as he passed the skin to the Nubian soldier who had invited him.

"And to yours," said the man. His eyes were smiling, momentarily unburdened by care.

Hannibal leaned back against Surus and tried to breathe as deep as she did, until his own sides heaved with the effort.


End file.
